The First Love

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The First Love Page 9

by Erinne Bates


  “Oh mon Dieu! You only lasted a few days before falling under each other’s spell,” she said then sat up. “Come here, Fenne, come here Calli. Let me at least be among those whose hearts are ripening for one another.”

  Fenne returned to the bed where we both embraced Sofie, smothering her with kisses and tickles.

  “I’m going to pee, stop!” she cried out, laughing. “Now please come down and eat la salade Madame Juliette has prepared just for us.”

  Sofie left us alone. Fenne took Orlando with her as she left my room. I tried to make sense of all the things I was feeling and had done over the last twelve hours. My room was temporary. France was temporary. Fenne was … I could not bring myself to complete my thought.

  I joined the others downstairs where we shared stories about our lives that eventually led each of us to be in that same location at that same moment in time. I stared out at the garden and wondered how many bodies had passed through it before me. How many romances had begun or ended under the same roof I was now under? How many strangers had come together as we four had? I began to understand Juliette’s desire to acknowledge the moon each night for the moments that we would never have together again. I wondered how I could write a place like this into my story.

  Chapter 17

  The weeks that followed were like an awakening. The ideas in my head flowed easily onto the pages and little by little I began to believe I was at last in control of the story.

  I settled into a routine that allowed me to write fluidly without distraction. I also tried my hand in the painting room. Juliette taught me how to prepare a canvas, and how to use my brush to create depth and shapes that tricked the eye into seeing tree branches or animals in a distance.

  Fenne and I arranged a schedule for ourselves so that our time together didn’t interfere with the time we needed for work. She was a tender and giving lover – her attention to detail definitely carried over between the sheets. She was a spontaneous romantic who would pick flowers in a field if we passed by one, or would ask strangers to take our picture, and even read poetry to me when we were alone. She reminded me what it was like to live solely in the present when she was around. She made little gifts for me, like a tiny bird’s nest she wove from twigs she had gathered around the Palace. She drew tiny, finely detailed sketches of two silhouettes in the Palace. I adored her gifts, and with each day we shared, I ignored that my adoration for her was also growing.

  When I handed her my first finished acrylic painting, a poor representation of a lake at the bottom of some mountains, with reflections of trees on the smooth water -- indeed a Bob Ross classic -- Fenne stared very hard at it. The leaves on the trees were clearly blotches of green smattered randomly about brown vertical lines. The water came out fairly well, but the reflections were poorly placed. I waited patiently for her reaction, half grinning in anticipation of the verbal misfiring that was about to come forth. I had come to love that part of her and discovered, with patience, she was more charming than not.

  “I’ll love this because you made it,” she said after a full forty seconds of silent assessment.

  It was not at all the response I expected, and inwardly the shit had just hit the fan. At that very moment, I felt like if she disappeared from my life I would possibly not be able to breathe. Fenne proceeded to give her critique of my painting while I quietly shoved my emotions back where they belonged.

  “There’s very little dimension here but I don’t expect--” she looked up from the painting. Her expression transformed from gauging to affectionate. I knew she wanted to tell me all that was wrong with my painting. When I handed it to her I expected nothing less than a mini-lecture on the merits of a proper brush stroke. It was all to be a joke. She was to have a tiny meltdown and I was going to laugh and then she’d laugh, and we’d all laugh...

  It backfired instead because we both were face to face with the fact that our feelings for each other had become significant. Salient even. Fenne had given way to her feelings over her analytics. As I witnessed it, my own feelings I covered, hid and squashed away were now exposed to me.

  We both stood silent until I had to speak.

  “That was supposed to be funny.”

  “I know.”

  I could tell she didn’t. She was holding the painting against her chest like a schoolbook. I fought to think of something to say to keep the mood fun and light. I became a coward. All along I had been stuffing my feelings away, assuming that if I ignored them I wouldn’t have to be accountable for them. Now having to face them unexpectedly while standing there in front of Fenne, I still chose to pretend they didn’t exist. I changed the topic.

  “Will you come to the Paris market tomorrow with Sofie and Juliette and me?”

  “Yes, I’d like that very much,” she said.

  Later that evening, I went to Fenne’s room. Her bed was enormous compared to the one I had in my room, and I thought I would read quietly while she worked. I had been feeling uneasy since the incident with the painting and thought that if I just sat quietly in her room, I would find some comfort. Fenne had papers and opened books scattered about the floor and across the entire bed. I stopped before fully entering.

  “Oh no. You’re working hard and I disturbed you,” I whispered and started to retreat. She rushed toward me and pulled me inside, kissing me hard at first, then with tenderness.

  “Stay,” she said between kisses. She pressed her forehead to mine and rocked from one foot to the other as if we were slow dancing to a tune in her head. “Stay. Stay. Stay forever-” I pulled back and looked at her. Her eyes stayed downward, then slowly met mine. Moving a book aside, I sat on the edge of her bed.

  “You know that is impossible,” I said gently, hating the conversation I had started.

  “Why.” She demanded more than she asked.

  “God, where do I start the list?” I put my face in my hands. “You have school. I have a life somewhere else. This was just supposed to be a fling. We weren’t supposed to fall--” I stopped myself.

  “Say it!” Fenne’s eyes glistened with intensity as she waited for my response.

  “I’m leaving here in less than two months. Maybe sooner than that. I don’t even know if you will be here until then--”

  “Say it!” she said with a slightly unrestrained tone. I stayed silent. “Why won’t you say it?”

  My mind raced to say anything but the truth but the only response I could think of was Yes I’m falling for you! and I would not dare allow those words to have breath. What a fool I had been. What a selfish goddam fool! ‘Love’ was not taking what I wanted and hoping the other person could protect herself. I was supposed to be the one who knew better, and instead, I walked the thin line like a fucking buffoon.

  “Please. Tell me you love me!”

  I looked into her pleading eyes – the supplication of her words echoed in my mind. I desperately wanted to forget about any responsibility to either of us. Slowly, I began to nod and watched as her shoulders dropped with relief-

  “I’m sorry, I don’t.”

  Chapter 18

  Hiding behind a pair of large sunglasses I bought from a street vendor, I lagged behind Sofie and Juliette. I no longer had an interest in the Paris outdoor market and longed to escape the charade of appearing like everything was ok. Fenne had announced she had a phone interview for her fellowship in Amsterdam and would be staying home. When I saw her face that morning, I could see the pain she tried to mask, though I am not sure anyone else did. Not once did she look at me.

  I told Sofie and Juliette I was going to wander around on my own and would probably catch a train home later in the evening.

  “Paris will heal that heart of yours if you let it,” Juliette said, kissing my cheeks.

  “You know?” Her insight surprised me.

  She nodded with a sympathetic smile, “Neither of you are very good at hiding your feelings.”

  “What should I do?” I desperately hoped she knew the answer.


  “What can you do?” she shrugged, “These things will take care of themselves.” I was about to ask her to tell Fenne I would see her that evening.

  “Calli?” – I heard a woman just behind me-- “Excuse me? Calli? Is that you?”

  I knew her voice without turning around. Juliette raised her eyebrows as she glanced over my shoulder at the mysterious woman.

  “You see?” she said, then walked away to join Sofie who was looking over fresh bread.

  Slowly I turned to see Justine.

  “Ah! My God! What are you doing here?” she gasped embracing me tightly. I was incredibly happy to see her, though it was coupled with a feeling of deep sorrow that quickly choked away any pleasant emotions that tried to surface. “I just cannot believe you are here!” She held my shoulders and squared herself to me, looking me up and down.

  “Ta-Daaaa,” I said forcing myself to maintain the only natural smile that had appeared on my face that day. I struggled as the weight of my sadness came back, rushing forward like a rapid tide moving in. The moment of happiness I experienced when I saw Justine was literally being drowned out and I felt like I was fighting to keep my head above the water. Suddenly I felt disconnected from my body. While anxiety coursed through me, I stood with a plastered grin as Justine introduced me to her husband and twelve-year-old son. With an intense dryness in my mouth, I struggled to answer her questions about my reasons for being in Paris, where I was staying, and what I had been doing for the past nine or so years.

  Sensing my weird distress, she turned to her husband, “Darling, why don’t you and Ian leave us girls to catch up. I’ll see you back at home later. Oh, and you take a cab and I’ll have the car, ok my love?” Darling had no problem with leaving and gave us both cheek kisses before heading off in another direction with young Ian.

  “Are you ok?” she asked me as soon as her family was out of earshot range.

  “I didn’t eat breakfast,” I lied, “I think my blood sugar is dropping.”

  Justine led me to a black Porsche Cayenne and drove us to a restaurant that I was noticeably underdressed for. I asked her to order for both of us since I could not read the menu. I asked the waiter for a dirty martini. He looked at me, confused.

  “Vodka aux olives, s’il Vous plait,” Justine told the waiter. “They don’t know what that is here, so you have to tell them,” she said to me. When he returned with our drinks, she grinned and raised her glass to mine. “I knew you would drink these one day, didn’t I?”

  “Sure,” I said, then gulped mine down. Justine only took a small sip of hers as I looked to our waiter who swiftly approached and took my empty glass. “Another, s'il Vous plait.”

  “Tout de suite,” he replied and hurried away. Justine examined my face. She started to reach for my sunglasses, but I asked her not to. “Not yet,” I mumbled.

  “My God, what has happened?” the concern in her voice was palpable, which caused a tiny vibration within me. I took a few deep breaths, soaking up any residue of concern that lingered from her question. The vodka worked to bring my nerves down to a more manageable level.

  “It’s not serious, I just made a mistake,” I said. When the waiter brought me a second martini, Justine put her hand on my arm as I was about to toss it down my throat again.

  “Just... Sip it,” she said.

  “I can’t believe you found me,” my voice sounded weak. I put my hand over hers. When she took my glasses from my face, she could see the evidence of hours of crying and lack of sleep.

  “Look, I’m going to take you somewhere you can rest. I don’t know what is going on, but I don’t want you to be alone, ok?”

  Instead of gulping the second martini, I took one long continuous sip from the rim, which ended with my head tilted back as the last drops fell onto my tongue.

  “You were right about these, Juliette—Justine,” I stuttered, and held the empty glass in the air. “And you know what? I think of you every time I order one.” The waiter appeared immediately and took it from me. “Uno mas,” I said then looked directly into Justine’s concerned eyes. “Do you wanna fuck?”

  “Ok, I don’t think you need any more of these,” Justine said sternly, then said something in French to the waiter who produced the bill. She signed it, then took her phone from her very expensive purse. As she conversed in French, I covertly drank the remainder of her martini.

  Instead of heading toward the entrance, she led me to another part of the restaurant that was connected to a large lobby full of hotel staff and arriving guests. I could barely see straight and found it easier to close my eyes and be led by Justine’s arm. I was shuffled into an elevator that traveled upward for an extended amount of time. The hallway insisted on tilting to one side, causing me to place my hand on the wall to avoid falling against it. Finally, Justine helped me into a room she used a key to open.

  “Where are we?” I murmured as I was told to lie back on an extremely large bed. She removed my shoes then reached for the waist of my pants and began to work them down my legs.

  “We have an apartment here,” she answered. “You’re in an apartment my husband and I own.”

  “Oh. What does Darling do?” my words were undoubtedly slurring. I started to open my eyes, but the room began to spin immediately.

  “Darling?” I said, now using the same name to address Justine.

  “What is it?” she was rummaging through her drawers for something for me to sleep in.

  “I’m going to be sic--” Justine snatched me up before I finished speaking the words. With one hand around my waist and the other grasping my arm, she had me over a shining porcelain bowl by the time I could pronounce the “k” in the word ‘sick’. Placing a cool towel on my neck, she stayed with me until I was reduced to a curled ball on the floor, clammy and shivering.

  After a warm bath, she dressed me in a white cotton tee-shirt and black lace silk underwear – both presumably hers – and laughed at the mismatch.

  “You look adorable. It reminds of when you used to wear socks to bed.”

  I was still too weak to raise my head, let alone respond, but the familiar laughter in her voice unburdened me more than anything else could have in that moment.

  “My poor little lamb,” she said stroking my hair away from my face after helping me into bed. I laid in a fetal position, waiting for the layers of covers to warm my shivering body.

  “I’m sorry,” I managed to say and then felt my tears. Justine was still in her clothes from the day but she kicked off her shoes and joined me. She cradled me against her bosom, at first with a rocking motion, but I had to put a stop to that to avoid another episode in the bathroom.

  Quietly, I undid two of the top buttons on her blouse, slipped my hand inside and cupped her breast so that her nipple spilled over her bra, and I took it into my mouth. When she was still, and the room also became still, and for the first time ever I heard her humming, I was comforted in my soul.

  When I awoke suddenly, the room was completely dark except for the soft light from the streetlamps that gave a faint illumination between a tiny parting in the curtains. Justine was staring out of the small opening, holding her phone to her ear.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” I heard her say. “Ok, bye-bye. I love you too.”

  When she adjusted the curtains, allowing a little more light into the room I could see that she was completely naked. The silhouette of her curves were just as I had long ago memorized. I don’t know if she could see that I was awake or even looking at her, but when she climbed into bed she reached for me and immediately pulled the tee-shirt she had given me earlier over my head and tossed it aside.

  I tensed up, unsure of her intention. “I can’t, “I said into the dark space. I could barely see her beside me.

  “It’s ok,” she replied. “I just want to be close to you.”

  I laid in her arms while she caressed my back. Even though she was completely naked and had removed my shirt, I still had on her lacey silk underwear.
I stayed quietly still, trying to ignore the building ache between my legs.

  “I’m not sure this is such a good idea,” I confessed, feeling the energy between our bodies heighten. I was about to roll away from her, but her leg slid up and into the ‘V’ of my inner thighs. My arousal escalated and I moaned involuntarily. My hips rotated and I reflexively pressed my clit against her leg. Heat swept through me. Keeping her leg between my thighs, Justine moved over me, her arms on either side of my shoulders. I felt her warm mouth against my neck as the top of her thigh nudged into me a second time.

  “Don’t,” I half-whispered, while everything in my body begged her not to stop.

  Her arm slid down my legs, half-tearing her panties away from my body. Kissing my exposed skin along the way, she buried her face between my thighs. My fingers tangled in her hair. Tilting my head back, I breathed heavily while her tongue flicked inside me.

  Gripping her forearms, I cried out when my orgasm began to rise from deep within. Before I could climax, Justine moved back up my body until she was completely over me, her mouth lingering over mine. She watched my face while her fingers penetrated me slowly. My hips raised and moved with her. My body found a perfect rhythm with hers, as it always had.

  “I want to feel your whole body come,” she breathed as the perspiration formed between us. I slid my hand between her legs. I could smell the familiar scent of our sex. I felt her begin to focus on the movement of my fingers. Her breathless sighs were intoxicating. When I could not hold my orgasm back any longer, I cried out into the darkness while waves of intense pleasure pulsated through me. Justine began to thrust against my hand as my fingers massaged her soaked lips until she forced them inside of her. Raising herself upright to straddle me fully, I watched every beautiful move, every jerk and twitch her body made when she came.

  She rested against the side of me, languorous. Just as I was falling asleep, her hand quietly moved between my legs, urging me to spread them for her. Her touch was light, as she traced her index finger over my lips, then parted them and gently stroked me. I buried my face in the top of her hair.

 

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